


Under Sun and Shadow

by OneShotRevolt



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-30 00:10:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21418969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneShotRevolt/pseuds/OneShotRevolt
Summary: Short stories based on prompts from tumblr. Mostly Silmarillion but also some LoTR era.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	1. Sauron & Saruman: Nothing you can say will make me go back there

They met on the cliffs, a place of borders and compromise. Mairon was in a sweeping scarlet gown bordered in filigree gold. Rings were on his ears and fingers, and tempered black iron was on his wrists. Curumo wore a plain linen garment woven from a single sheet of cloth, and a brown apron tied about his middle.

“Greetings, brother. I’m glad you agreed to meet me.” Curumo gave a small bow.

Mairon flashed him a smile that was all glamour and no depth,

“You know me, always trying to lend a hand to those who fall behind.”

Curumo gave a slightly strained smile back,

“You have… changed much,” he said with difficulty.

“Haven’t I just,” Mairon gave a twirl and his satins billowed in the sea breeze, catching and snapping like tongues of flame. “It’s a transformation my lord offers any who wish freedom. Join me, Curumo. You’re always dressed so drably, you’d look good in colour.”

“You mistake my meaning,” Curumo said carefully, “I was not talking of your appearance.”

Mairon’s expression soured, it became tired and sardonic,

“And here I thought Aulë let you come all this way to compliment me on my wardrobe. He somehow continues to disappoint even with a world between us.”

“Have a care how you speak, Mairon,” Curumo’s voice was sharp.

“Or what?” Mairon cocked an eyebrow at him. Curumo looked unhappy. Mairon leaned in close and whispered in his ear, “The benefits of serving the greatest of the valar: I am free to speak my mind as those in Valinor never could. I am free.”

“Do you speak your mind freely to your dark lord?”

Mairon pulled back as if stung. His face flickered to fleeting fear before it settled back to its comfortable irony.

“Lord Melkor values my counsel. He has made me his Lieutenant. I command armies.”

“What is an army?”

Mairon fell into a cruel mocking laugh,

“Do not worry, my friend, you will know soon enough. The world will know soon enough. My lord shares his knowledge freely. He will teach the world of freedom, rebellion, and war. But you always had a quick mind, Curumo. You are wasted in the forges of the valar. Come. You shall have an army of your own. I will make you shine bright as the jewels of the Noldor. The creatures of this realm will look upon you and know fear.”

Curumo shook his head and sighed. He looked down to where the white crests of waves ebbed and flowed over the angular rocks on the beach below.

“I fear for you, Mairon. I fear the choices you have made. Come back home. There are people who love you, who will welcome you back.”

“Master Aulë, perhaps?” Mairon said bitterly.

Curumo’s eyes softened,

“In time, him too. The Lady Yavanna will sway his heart. He cares for you dearly.”

“He had a funny way of showing it,” Mairon snapped.

“And the dark vala is more forthcoming in his affections?”

“Lord Melkor has granted me power, shown me things I could never have imagined. He has taught me songs from before the beginning of the universe. He reaches out to the unknown and learns its secrets. He knows how to destroy, and thus he _truly_ knows how to create, unlike Aulë’s sad attempts.” A pained look crossed his fellow maia’s face at that memory. Mairon continued, “the valar are unfair to Lord Melkor. They fear him, and are jealous of him. He is greater than them all combined.” Mairon began to circle Curumo, the trail of his robes curling behind him. His voice had become light, almost melodic.

“Stop that...” Curumo had to turn to keep facing him.

“Stop serving that embarrassing vala. Come and learn _true _power.”

“Mairon…” Curumo watched as the curling red robes became licking flames, twirling about him in a vortex, egged on my the music in Mairon’s words. “I have no desire to fight with you. I only came here to ask you to come home with me.” He flinched as the fire furled higher, its fierce heat nicking at his robes and dusting his fingers with small charred burns.

“Nothing you can say will make me go back there!” Mairon hissed. The flames sung higher.

“Mairon!”

A wave crashed against the cliff face, its spray pluming up into the air. Mairon blinked and glanced down to the writhing sea below. The fires about Curumo faded and died without Mairon’s attention.

“I should have known better than to meet you here. They’re watching us aren’t they?” He stepped back noticeably from the sea edge. “Nomatter. Lord Ulmo cannot reach to where the volcanoes burn day and night, to where the glaciers creak and move at my lord’s command. Go, Curumo. Come back when you’ve learned to be wise. We are generous. Our table is always open. Which is more than can be said of Aulë’s.”

Fire cracked in his step as Mairon swept away, leaving Curumo silent and alone on the cliff edge.


	2. Legolas & Gimli: Don’t be scared, I’m right here

“Do not be afraid. I am here beside you.”

“Afraid! Hah! I have no fear of this place! Bunch of old trees!” Gimli glanced around, eyes moving quickly from the dark spaces between gnarled roots and silence held in the canopy above. An empty coldness clung to the dead air about him.

Legolas merely smiled. He would not injure his friend’s pride by saying any more. Even with Isengard fallen, the trees here held long memories. He could feel their whispers as dead leaves crackling on a thin breeze. Even their attentive shepherds could not still the heart of Fangorn, long made bitter by injury.

Gimli looked up at his friend. Legolas had that expression on his face – the one that saw far off things that mortals could not. When they had first met, Gimli had seen arrogance and aloofness in that look. Elves always with their minds elsewhere and proud boasts of deep knowledge. Now, however, he would watch quietly. If he was attentive enough, he could see all Middle Earth as a tiny cosmos caught up in his friend’s gaze – a sight that could reach beyond here and now, and gather up quiet, scattered truths.

“What do you see?”

Legolas blinked and looked down at him.

“A friend.”

Gimli scoffed,

“I meant with your magic elf vision.”

Legolas laughed, then smiled,

“This is a good place to tarry. Not a safe place, but one that might do good if we learned to listen. These trees are old and angry, hard even for an elf to hear. We could do them a kindness by at least listening to their stories.”

“Hmph!” Gimli folded his arms, “Don’t see what use a dwarf will be in all this!”

Legolas’s eyes grew sad, but he nodded,

“A dwarf is exactly what is needed. Some trees here are grown so old and tired, that their roots are turned to stone. They are hard to speak to for me, but perhaps not for you.”

Gimli’s arms slowly unfolded. He looked around again in the gloom of the forest. Everywhere the hunched shoulders of trees leant, with cruel twisting fingers reaching to grab and snag. He shivered.

“Do not-”

“-Be afraid, yes, I heard you. Easy for you to say! Alright show me how to do this- but just a warning, for every minute I spend trying to listen to a tree, you have to spend an extra day in the Glittering Caves.”

Legolas smiled again,

“It will be as you say.”


	3. Sauron & Witch King: Pet

Mairon strode out of the tent into the hot desert sun. He interlocked his fingers and stretched them above his head until they clicked. He let his arms swing back to his sides and cricked his neck. His robes felt good: silky against his body with sequins that shimmered in the brilliant light. The heat felt good: beating down on his beautifully crafted skin, hand-picked an hour beforehand. _He_ felt good: his plans were sliding into place, like molten metal into a ready-made mould.

“He said yes?” A bleak figure moved to stand at his side. The Witch King of Angmar was already a figure of terror and legend, the solemn, seldom-spoken-of shadow to the much-loved Annatar, giver of gifts and bringer of fortunes. Mairon liked being Annatar. He liked his carefully cultivated aura of generosity and glamour. He liked the way it set people at ease around him and made them easy to cherry pick.

“Of course he said yes. _You_ said yes. Who could say no to me if you couldn’t?” Mairon shot a look at his servant. The wraith still insisted in dressing like he was ready for war at any moment. To those with unaccustomed eyes, that helmet would have a black nothingness beneath it, but Mairon could still see the proud, Númenórean features of the man his servant had once been.

“What did you offer him?” the wraith asked.

“Everything and nothing. The usual.”

“I don’t like him.”

“Because you’re jealous, my dear one. But don’t worry, Khamûl is not here to usurp your prize place. And besides, it will be a while before he joins us. He will have his brief glory days first.” Mairon flashed his servant a dazzling smile.

“Must you collect people so?”

“Friendship is an important thing! It is the start of all power and dominion! So much easier to make people bow when they adore you. Isn’t that right?” The Witch King glared at him, but after a few moments, glanced away. Mairon laughed. He stretched again and bright, gold bangles jangled on his wrists as he did. The warm sun beat down on brown rocks and a sea of sifting sand.

“Ah, it feels good to have people around me again,” Mairon sighed. “I used to keep pets when I was the Lieutenant of Angband too, you know. Beautiful things. Wolves the size horses. Clever and quick too.” His servant stirred. A cruel smile slunk slowly onto Mairon’s face. “A problem, dread lord of Angmar?” The wraith’s lips tightening almost imperceptibly.

After that, they walked in silence through the drifting dunes and their striped orange shadows, back towards their waiting retinue. When they were still a short way off, the Witch King finally spoke again.

“So we are nothing more than dogs to you?”

“I resent your tone of voice – I loved my dogs very much! And dog is such an understatement. If you could only have seen these magnificent beasts…” He gave his servant another sharp, canny grin.

The Witch King said nothing.


End file.
